


Folie À Deux

by LivingInFiction



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Choking, Dark Peter Parker, First Time Killing, He teaches Peter, Horny Peter Parker, Infinity War and Thor Ragnarok didn't happen, Loki is still a villain of sorts, M/M, Murder, Murder is basically like sex in some way, Peter would do anything for Loki, Peter's age isn't defined, Praise, Sexual Undertones, Teasing, Though it wasn't my intent since I wrote this before FFH, Unknown poor bastard who didn't ask for this, burning desire, but for the sake of it let's say he recently turned 18, it could be, kind of, quentin beck - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 13:03:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20258530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivingInFiction/pseuds/LivingInFiction
Summary: “Easy now,” the God hummed, “you wouldn’t want to rush it, would you?”His whole body shivered with anticipation. An anticipation he was ashamed to feel, all because of the dark-haired man who stood so close to him. The caress of his hand and lips on his damp hair, the warmth of his breath against his ear, the manner with which he almost purred the words. It made his blood boil and his limbs tingle, like it would after drinking too many glasses of liquor.Was it always like this the very first time, paralysing and thrilling all at the same time?





	Folie À Deux

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while back, but realised I never finished it, so here it is!  
I never thought about Peter and Loki being a thing until I stumbled upon a video on youtube, and I've been digging it so much since then! Whether it's in a very fluffy or dark way!
> 
> But now that Far From Home is out, I feel the urge to write about Peter and Quentin. I might do it soon!  
I also want to write more about Peter and Loki, I just need to finish my other WIPs before.  
In the meantime, please enjoy this sombre little fic.

“Easy now,” the God hummed, “you wouldn’t want to rush it, would you?”

Peter swallowed loudly, his hands flinching at the comment. He gradually put less strength in his grip until it felt right, but didn’t let go. His whole body shivered with anticipation. An anticipation he was ashamed to feel, all because of the dark-haired man who stood so close to him. The caress of his hand and lips on his damp hair, the warmth of his breath against his ear, the manner with which he almost purred the words. It made his blood boil and his limbs tingle, like it would after drinking too many glasses of liquor.

He kept his gaze focused on his task and stayed in position, his knees dug in the grass and the slippery mud, hunched over, his balance only maintained because of how much strength he put in his arms. He breathed in and out to steady himself, yet it was like he couldn’t find enough air to fill his lungs. He was breathing too fast. He couldn’t calm himself because of this surge of adrenaline that flowed all through his body.

Was it always like this the very first time, paralysing and thrilling all at the same time?

“Here,” the man rested one of his hands on Peter’s left one, with a smooth push of his fingers he moved his thumb, “this spot will make it easier for you. Putting it too high reduces the effects.”

“Y-Yes, Mister Loki.”

He heard him huff, he didn’t need to look back to know that the God of Mischief was smiling out of pure satisfaction. He didn’t want to admit it, but it made his heart swell with pride. It meant that he did good. That despite his lack of experience in the matter, Loki still enjoyed his presence, that his interest for him remained unchanged. He was still willing to teach him, no matter how clumsy he was.

“You’re being so good to me, my pet,” the Scandinavian God praised. “So much intent put into this, all for me; You deserve a reward.”

Peter yelped when Loki’s lips pressed against the nape of his neck, teeth teasing the tender flesh. Blood rushed to his face, to his ears, and down his belly. He had to fight his instinct to not let go and lean against the tantalising touch, to engulf himself in the warmth of the God’s embrace. He let out a sigh of delight when Loki’s hand travelled from his hair to slowly go down his back. His fingers traced all sorts of unknown shapes and patterns until they slithered under his t-shirt, soiled with dirt and sweat. Excitement rushed through him, Loki’s touch was enough to excite him but to be witnessed by a third party in such a situation- he was embarrassed. Then why did he find it so arousing?

He shuddered when weak fingers scratched his forearms. Peter opened his eyes - when had he closed them ? - and met wide, blue eyes staring at him in a silent plea. Lips moved, mouth wide open, filled with strangled sounds. It was such a rare and unnerving sight, never once had he seen something resembling this. Not in person at least, he had only seen pale reproductions in those horror movies he used to watch late at night with Ned, back when they were still friends. He had fantasised about this before, wondered what it would be like, what it would _feel_ like. But he had never acted on his urge, not until he came into his life, Loki, the God of Mischief. 

He remembered the events of New York, the savagery of his attack on humanity, buildings that had been destroyed in mere minutes, people screaming and running away from his wrath. The first time he saw his face was on TV, when aunt May and uncle Ben were watching the news after the Avengers had stopped the attack, some paparazzi had filmed Thor and Loki’s departure from earth to go back to Asgard. Everybody thought that it would be the last that they would see of him, that’s what Peter had thought too. Though the events still remained fresh in people’s mind, years went by and people got distracted by bigger threats, like Ultron. He had almost forgotten about the mischievous God, that is, until the day he came back on earth.

He would probably still lead his usual life as the friendly neighbourhood Spider-man, if he hadn’t bumped into him back then. It was an accident, or at least it had seemed like one. He had been running down the streets without a care in the world, excited to head home to grab a snack and go on a patrol as Spider-man; it was a little routine that he had learned to enjoy. One moment he was wondering what kind of jam he could put in his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and the next his face met the torso of who turned out to be no other than the very first nemesis of the Avengers. He remembered finding it odd that he hadn’t been able to avoid the impact, usually his spider senses alerted him right on time, yet nothing had alerted him then. When he looked up, as he apologised, he almost didn’t recognise the God.

He looked far more human the he had ever seen him before, mostly because he was wearing more standard clothes, compared to the ones he had been wearing back in New York, but it wasn’t just that. He didn’t seem to radiate with anger anymore, as though he felt a strong need to destroy everything that came near him. At least, that was Peter had thought. Loki had simply smiled at him, accepting his apologies. It was almost like he saw him under a new, different light. The next thing he knew, they were both having a long, lighthearted conversation at a café, where the God told him everything about how he found himself on earth against his will. And he could help but smile as Loki spoke of other worlds and planets he had no idea existed, how an altercation with a particularly powerful entity made him land once more on earth. But he knew that he couldn’t trust him, a God whose reputation consisted of deceiving everyone and anyone. 

Yet, he hadn’t deceived him. Not once since they encountered on that fateful day. It had been quite the contrary. 

“Where is your mind at, I wonder?” 

The amused murmur brought him back to the present moment, he got distracted by his own thoughts, again. He mumbled an apology as he focused back on his task. His arms were tired, they were starting to shake because of the effort, but he had to keep his hold under control, or else all of this would have been for nothing. He had been granted with a superhuman strength, but for this task he had to keep it down as much as he could, that’s what he had asked of him. Loki trusted him, and he needed to prove that he was right to trust him as his protege. He wanted to make him proud, and he would make him so.

As though he had sensed his resolution, or maybe just as a way to tease him a little more, the Scandinavian God’s nails scraped all the way down his spine, and it was almost too much for him. His grip tightened more - a move he promptly reversed the best he could – as a barely contained moan escaped his lips. His whole body shivered, his back arched, a physical reflex to the pain. But because it was Loki, because of what he felt, the pain didn’t remain as such for long. He was ashamed to even think it, how each and every touch from him summoned sparks of arousal in the pit of his stomach. He would blame the hormones of his teenage body, if he didn’t know too well what really was the source of it all.

“Tell me, how does it feel?” he murmured, the last word almost purred.

He truly wanted to answer that he wished to feel more of his touch, but knew that it wouldn’t be quite what was expected from him. He focused on what he felt at that moment, tried to block what all of Loki’s actions were doing to him, eyes focused below. There were so many ways to describe it all, hundreds, thousands of different combinations of words to explain what it was like, to give justice to the act itself, yet there was only one word that kept popping in his mind and he couldn’t muster to find another, far more suiting one. Oddly enough, or maybe not so much, he felt like it encompassed it all. Loki, him and _that_\- 

“It’s intoxicating.”

He heard an appreciative hum come from the God; one he could have easily missed if he hadn’t been so close to him. The forest was still quiet at that time of the night, only small sounds coming from the local fauna disrupted the eerie silence, the third party on the other hand… he wasn’t as quiet as he thought he would have been. Peter was honestly taken aback at the thought; he didn’t think it was something that took so much time – even though he had no idea how long it’s been. His mind was all over the place.

“Look him well in the eyes, Peter.”

He gulped. Loki didn’t call him by his name often, but when he did, it was always in moments of great importance. He obeyed and stared into the man eyes, which were frantically looking everywhere for something they couldn’t find: _Help_. His physical resistance had grown weaker, he barely had enough strength in his hands and arms to attempt to shove Peter aside. The teenager was on the lookout, he didn’t want to miss what it was that Loki had told him about so many times, that thing that would change him, shape him into what the God envisioned for him. 

That’s when he saw it. If he had blinked a second before he would almost have missed it as it faded away. That one last spark of life. The expression on the man’s face changed, all tension leaving his features to freeze into that odd, more relaxed expression. His hands slipped from Peter’s arm and landed in the muddy soil; he wasn’t moving anymore. He wasn’t breathing anymore. 

He was _dead_. 

Yet Peter hadn’t let go. He couldn’t. He was afraid of what would happen next. His whole core was shaking, and he knew for sure it wasn’t only because of his strained muscles. 

He had done it.

The realisation was almost too much. He had prepared for it, had been willing to do it, for so long. He felt a rush of pride, his mind was clouded by a frenzy he had never felt before, yet a well hidden part of him - one he thought had died weeks ago – shrieked in agony. He was fascinated yet repulsed by the lifeless body below him. He wanted to flee and relish in it all, his mind forever changing.  
What was he supposed to do now? What was he supposed to say? He had always followed orders until now, he did as he was told and nothing else, because he knew that he would be guided through it all. Yet Loki hadn’t said a single word since then. Was the God feeling his inner turmoil, or was he evaluating what his next move would be? Was he disappointed? Proud? He needed him to say something, _anything_. 

He couldn’t stand being left alone with his own train of thought, he couldn’t stand the deafening silence which held him. His breath was erratic, his body kept shivering uncontrollably and he felt like a fool, he doubted his own worth. Had he even deserved everything that the Norse God had offered him? He could have sworn he was ready to cry at any second if nothing were to happen soon. 

Then, cold, deft fingers slithered around his throat. The pounding in his chest stopped, maybe for a second or two, only to double in intensity once it started again. The pressure on his skin was light enough not to strain him, yet strong enough to force him to straighten. His hands would have remained locked around his victim’s throat, if it wasn’t for the other hand which wandered down his left arm, grabbed his own to help him let go, the other hand following shortly after on its own. He heard a soft thud; he hadn’t realised he had lifted the man’s body in the process of getting up. Finally, his back met Loki’s chest, the warmth almost overwhelming. With a flick of his fingers, Loki tipped his chin upwards so that the back of his head would rest on the God’s shoulder, his neck all the more exposed to him.

“You’re conflicted,” he murmured, his hot breath tickling the crook of his neck, “do you wish to leave my side?”

“No!”

He was ashamed to hear the whimper that escaped him. It made him feel like a child, immature and unable to make up his mind.

“Anything but that, _please_. I don’t wanna go. I don’t want _you_ to go.”

“Then what do you _want_?”

He was too taken aback by the question to his liking. He knew what he didn’t want. That, he was at least was sure of. As for what he did want… How could he possibly know when he was too lost to have the semblance of a rational thought? How was he supposed to make a choice, one that he deemed right for himself, when all the lines were blurred by his aghast senses? Were the matters of what was needed and what he wanted meant to be accounted, or was he supposed to follow his own selfish desires, crushing the remains of his past conscience on the way? He searched the starless sky for an answer, maybe something - or someone, another God maybe – would give him the answer he wanted. 

Or maybe not. Maybe there wasn’t a need for a divine intervention at all, not when the most divine thing he could have ever encountered was embracing him in this very moment. Maybe _that_ was the only answer he truly needed-

“I want to be by your side, no matter where you go, Mister Loki.”

The God let go of his hand and snaked his arm around his waist, pulling him closer if it was even possible. Warm, soft lips brushed against the crook of his neck; the proximity killing him more. He shouldn’t feel guilty about the way his body reacted, and how his mind showed him hundreds of thoughts he was too ashamed of to even admit they were his own, and yet. Because, despite the constant shaming from his conscience, it was something he yearned for. Every contact with the God of mischief always seemed to set his body on fire, made him crave for more. It was as though Loki managed to push all the right buttons to awake buried desires he had been unaware of. Or rather, desires he chose to be unaware off, until he couldn’t ignore them anymore.

“Would you allow it? For me to stay with you?”

But desire and devotion wouldn’t be enough, would it? Loki had made all this happen because he believed in his abilities to execute his vision, to be the only one he would need for him to reign. And Peter believed it as well, believed he would be good enough. He still would by now, if he wasn’t so upset by the act and mad at himself. Especially after thinking that he was ready for so many weeks. He couldn’t possibly be fit for it, not in the way he expected him to be. Loki wouldn’t want his “right-hand man” to be an adolescent in constant doubt… 

“I could,” his fingers softly tapped against his windpipe, “if you really want to.”

Voices fought in his head. One screaming for him to stop this nonsense, and run. Run as fast as he could from this path of destruction. Pleas for him to go back to how things were before, drowned by determined shouts, ordering him to give in to his desires and dark instincts. And he was the one who had to choose which one to only listen to.

“I-” a beat, the voices in his head louder than ever, “I do, I really do.”

“But is that want enough for you to become my executioner?”

He did not dare to answer. His eyes still lost in the abyssal sky, despite knowing that the answer wouldn’t just show itself like that. He wished his wants would be enough for him to make his mind, that it would never deflect after his choice would be made, but he was still haunted by-

“Doubts.”

Peter tensed at the word. Loki knew, and his reaction just betrayed himself.

“I can feel your indecisiveness,” the pressure around his waist lessened, and suddenly Loki wasn’t behind him anymore, but right in front of him, almost by magic, fingers still around his neck. “You shouldn’t have any. I know you are ready, _Peter_,” the teenager shivered, “you have shown your devotion to me many times before, you can’t deceive me.”

His thumb danced over his neck, right where his carotid was. If the God hadn’t been sure about Peter’s own nervousness, then the drumming of his pulse must have made it quite clear. It then moved up his jaw, and reached his chin with one long stroke, the tip of the dark-haired man’s thumb grazed over his lower lip, another vile temptation for the teenager who restrained himself the best he could. 

His own eyes wandered on the man’s face, leaving his emerald gaze to stare at his parted lips. He was just a few inches away from him. It would only take one bold move for Peter to reach Loki. It was something he had envisioned to do before. More than once, through the last handful of months. He had often observed Loki in all of his Greatness, detailed his face, stared far too long at his lips. Loki had that singular kind of beauty, one that must have got him courted countless times before -whether it was by alien, Asgardian or even human. 

“Now, tell me,” the God murmured as he got even closer to him, “will you be my executioner?”

Oh, and Loki knew just how much he wanted to kiss him. Their lips were separated by almost nothing, he could feel the God’s breath against them. His whole body was burning with anticipation and desire, the mere thought that he might be able to touch the God in such an intimate way too much for him. The pit of his stomach on fire when he thought about what it would be like, in a future where he would be Loki’s executioner. Where intimacy would exceed a simple kiss.

He had made his mind before he even had the time to realise, words spilling from his lips.

“Yes, yes- _please_, let me be your executioner,” his answer came in a whimper, again.

“Very good answer,” Loki purred in satisfaction.

Loki’s hand slipped around Peter’s neck, his fingers tangled in the hair at the base of his neck, and without a warning, the God’s lips were against his own. He couldn’t help the shameful moan that escaped him, head spinning and hands clinging tightly onto the man’s back, his hold probably strong enough to rip the fabric of his expensive black vest. But none of that really mattered anymore when Loki’s tongue found a way inside his mouth, their kiss hungrier than ever. 

A growl, teeth teasing Peter’s lips, a hand, caressing his crotch, piercing green eyes, savoring the wreck he was.

“_My_ executioner.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you notice grammar mistakes or misspelled words, please do tell me and I'll correct it ASAP! :)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
